


Gentility

by pokey_jr



Series: The Yeehaw Chronicles [6]
Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dominant Arthur, F/M, Second person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokey_jr/pseuds/pokey_jr
Summary: Arthur tends to be in a certain mood when he gets back to camp after doing other men’s scut work.





	Gentility

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written in collaboration with (and inspired by!) [@viny-kun](%E2%80%9Cviny-kun.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) on tumblr. For all who have asked, their art piece that ties in with this fic is not posted yet, but will be soon! Please go check them out, they are fabulously talented!

Arthur tends to be in a certain mood when he gets back to camp after doing other men’s scut work.

He forces nothing with you. Even when he rides back from a heist or a stage robbery, successful or not, injured or not, the size of the take is inconsequential. He’ll come to you in those moments when his blood is up, growling under his breath—  
_I want you._

In his tent, or farther from camp, in the underbrush. As soon as you nod your consent, he takes you by the hand, possessed by a singular purpose. And still, he will never violate you. Overpower, maybe, before realizing his own strength. 

Like when he’s kissing you, thoroughly, hungrily, his lips parting and his tongue dipping into your mouth, groaning as you respond in turn. He always likes that, the way you hold nothing back. You cleave your body to his, wanting him to feel your tits pressed against his broad chest, wanting to goad him to really lose control. It’s all an escalating give-and-take, these encounters, and in truth he is sweet. You know him. You know how he is, you’ve seen his journal, seen the large and quiet kindness that occupies the center of his being, and the fraying violence in which he cloaks himself in order to confront the world.

He leads you to his tent this time. Away from Bill and Micah, who he’d ridden with, and their preening in the eye of attention for such a daring raid. He’d barely remembered to untie the flaps. You glimpse the canvas fluttering in a light breeze when he breaks away and latches on to your neck. Tender kisses at first, sending shivers of arousal all the way from the pit of your stomach out to every extremity, but he can’t help himself. He supports you with a hand at the back of your head, licking then nipping then biting. 

“Arthur—“ you hiss at the sudden pain.

He raises his head, his face a mask of concern, watching your reaction closely as he suckles the same spot.

“That— _ohhh._ ” Whatever sting there was cedes to pleasure. 

He shoots you a roguish grin. “I thought so,” he laughs, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. “You got any more insightful commentary?” 

You twist the fabric of his shirt in your hands, wishing it wasn’t between you. “Do it again. _Fuck_ , Arthur...”

His free hand drops from your waist to your ass, pulling you close to let you feel the hard ridge of his erection as he grinds against you. “Tell me what you want, darlin’,” his voice is coarse as he acquiesces to your request. “Tell me now, your mouth is gonna be full in a minute.”

Desire floods you at the command. At the _promise_. Because you know he will, when he’s like this, and your body thrills at the idea, so you whisper some nonsense, excess words arranged as jumbled thoughts. More than necessary, when the simple truth is, you want him, however he’ll have you.

He has you undressed to your small clothes well before he’s even undone his neckerchief. He kisses your neck again, down to your collarbone, maneuvering you to sit onto the bed so he can lavish your tits with his tongue and fingers. Devouring you, he’s all urgent and sloppy. He steadies you with one large hand on your rib cage. Same as when he’s fucking you and trying to refrain from immediately pounding you into the bed.

Before long it’s not enough. For him or for you, but right now he is still surly about whatever trouble he got into, his blue eyes are darkened, glinting with base lust. He stands. From your position on his bed you can see clearly his hard cock outlined in his breeches. You reach for it, stroking him over the fabric. 

He swears under his breath and begins to strip hastily, shrugging his suspenders off his shoulders, fumbling with buttons. A few of them pop off; he’ll probably ask you later to sew them back on, but who cares. Who goddamn _cares_. Arthur won’t. Arthur will toss the shirt away as a rag and go rob someone to buy another. Funny, how his code of honor works. 

With his shirt hanging open he hauls you up by your arm, repositioning you both; he never even bothers to kick off his boots. He half sits on his bed, back against the headboard, one leg up and the other on the ground. You’re between, kneeling where he wants you. Already undoing his button and fly because it’s become apparent that it’s that kind of day. 

He shoves the material down enough, frees his cock and balls. 

“Take me in your mouth.” Again, never forcing. He never would. He’s on the edge of begging, and while you would really love to admire how magnificent he looks— panting slightly, covered in a sheen of sweat, his shaft lying thick against his stomach and his balls hanging heavy— you can’t tease him. “Go on,” he breathes. “Open. Open up, darlin’.”

You do, leaning forward, grasping him and swirling your tongue around the plush head. His skin tastes of salt and sweat.  
His fingers come up to tangle in your hair when you take him deeper. “Ohhh _fuck_.” He sighs, a rough, wonderful, vulnerable sound. He’s breathing hard, his hips rising. His other hand is fisted in the blanket; you cling to that corded forearm, matching his rhythm as he thrusts into your mouth. 

It crosses your mind, as it has many times before, that anyone in camp could pass by and spy you through the gap, or worse, walk in. As if the noises aren’t enough warning. 

You sit back, releasing his cock with a light _pop_ and letting it fall from your mouth, shiny with saliva. You meet his eyes when he grunts in annoyance— _darlin’ I ain’t in the most patient mood_ —

And then lower against to suck his balls. One at a time, relishing the way his eyes go wide and then flutter closed as he chokes on a moan. He pumps himself as you switch from one to the other, murmurs the filthiest things you’ve ever heard, things you’ll repeat to him later to see if he has the decency to blush.

You can see now there are two spots of color high on his cheeks. With a groan he wrenches your head back and presents his swollen cock to your lips, fills your mouth as soon as you open for him. 

“Yes, that’s it, there you go. You—“ he breaks off, watching you with hooded eyes, his hips stroking lazily.

You gaze up at him, adoring. Giving him permission.

“Fuck.” He bucks, deep into your throat. You gag, and don’t let go, brace your hands on each of his well-muscled thighs. That’s really all it takes: him feeling your fingers dig in, feeling you swallow around his thick shaft and then he’s driving into your mouth with abandon. 

“Goddamn, you’re beautiful.” He brushes your hair back from your face, stalling briefly so his balls press against your chin and his pubic hair tickles your nose. You believe him. You think you are, at the moment, a vessel for his desires, and perfectly aware and unafraid of your own, which he had stoked. And here he is, so insistent and yet helpless beneath your touch.

He moves again, his cock full and hot in your mouth— “more, yes, like that, _more_ —” he thrusts wildly, searching. His whole chest and neck are flushed; he begins to come apart when you reach one hand to grab his, which is white-knuckling his blankets. 

“Ohhh… fuck.” His voice goes ragged, he laces his fingers with yours. “Darlin’, I’m gonna—“ and he breaks. Spectacularly. 

He arches, his body flexing as he fucks your mouth in desperate pursuit of release. It is a grotesque and lovely pleasure he takes in you, in the fact that he got shot at and lived, for the thousandth time. In the fact that you’re both perverse enough to enjoy such indulgences. He shudders and stalls, his grip weakens, he moans loud enough for the whole camp to hear.

You savor it all. Your own saliva, the taste of his skin, and in the next moment the bitterness and salt and musk of his seed.  
You lick him clean while his breathing evens out. Sit back on yours heels, let his softening cock fall from your lips. His head falls back and he sighs with contentment. You move to get up and dress yourself, with a word about chores that need doing, trying to hide your disappointment that his violence-induced passion has subsided.

Arthur cracks an eyelid, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Oh, don’t you go anywhere, darlin’. We ain’t done.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you read all this way, THANKS. It’s obviously not edited and i wrote it tonight while drunk because a friend showed me a preview of fan art where Arthur is NAKED with his T H I C C thighs spread, y’all. Obvs very inspiring.  
> also, if you like my work, feel free to prompt/request RDR2 stuff on my tumblr: outtricking.tumblr.com


End file.
